


What You Want, bonus smut

by cymbalism



Series: Unholy Alliance [2]
Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Angry Sex, M/M, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymbalism/pseuds/cymbalism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's say this is the second or third time Spot and David meet up. Takes place between chapters 2 and 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Want, bonus smut

* * *

Spot's fist tightened at David's collar. David swallowed against it, holding the other boy's gaze steady. He was taking a chance that pissing Spot off would have the same kind of effect it did before. It was wrong to bait him, wrong to be there, wrong to want what he did. But David didn't know what else to do. Every time he was around Jack -- which wasn't often, and David had been avoiding him even when he did come over for dinner -- he had to hold his breath or bite his lip or dig his nails into his thigh under the table, because he knew now, knew what was possible. And it drove him back to Spot, because there was no way Jack could ever want this, too.

David narrowed his eyes at Spot and took another chance. He shifted his weight and worked his thigh up and into Spot's crotch. Spot's look intensified in a different way and his grip loosened, so David did it again. He felt blood rushing through his own body in response. In seconds, Spot's hands were clutching at other parts of David's shirt, even his hair, and David's tongue and teeth were at the lean muscle of Spot's throat. He tasted like sweat, like the salty yeast of baking bread.

In a few minutes more, Spot was bare to the waist, his ribs featuring a bruise at his side, with his pants and small britches barely clinging to his slim hips. David had managed to turn them and pin Spot against the tower of crates they hid behind and kept him at bay by cupping a hand over the mound of stiffening flesh in Spot's pants. Spot didn't make a sound -- just closed his eyes and bit his lip and let David, also shirtless by then, take him fully in hand. At first contact, David was surprised at the how warm and tender-soft the skin was. But now, after a few minutes of stroking and some spit, he was mesmerized by the firmness and weight. And he wanted what he'd come for even more.

Spot gave it to him as David's palms braced against the rough wood of the crates and he fought to keep his knees steady and legs spread. It didn't take long for one deep probe from Spot to trigger that numbness in David. It burned and froze at the same time, out from the core of his body, through his veins, and over his skin. He let out a moan and clamped his eyes against tears he didn't understand and panted, realizing Spot was gasping for breath behind him, too. David sank his head, letting it dangle between his shoulders because he didn't yet trust himself to let go of the makeshift wall. He saw the spattered evidence of what he'd just done below, but even that couldn't penetrate the heavy armor of numbness he wore now.

They broke apart and reassembled themselves silently. Spot was dressed first. He spat in his hand and held it out. David paused while tying a boot and returned the gesture. Spot pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow warily, but said nothing, so David kept silent as well. Still without a word, Spot turned, grabbing his cane from where it was stuck upright in the sand and adjusting it into his belt without looking back.

David finished with his boot lace and glanced around for his tie. He found it half buried a few feet away -- it had been one of the first things Spot ripped off. David hadn't noticed earlier, but it was the tie Jack had purchased (with some guidance from Sarah) for David's birthday with the money he'd saved from their impressive earnings and some of the no-longer-necessary Santa Fe fund. David frowned. He'd meant to put the tie back on but, getting to his feet, instead he shoved it in his pocket and started the trek home.

**Author's Note:**

> Back to [chapter 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/460724/chapters/857389) of What You Want.


End file.
